Vulnerable
by Stencil Your Heart
Summary: During the day they are acquaintances, barely even friends. But we're all different once the lights go out. A dreaded CloudOC. Rating subject to change.


**Disclaimer: **Obviously I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of its affiliates. If I did, I would have no need to write this, would I?

* * *

**Prologue**

3:01 am.

It is 3:01 am and Cloud Strife is sitting in the corner of his bedroom, in the dark, on the most uncomfortable chair in Radiant Garden, doing nothing. Normal people are asleep at this hour. Cloud Strife sits in a chair, half-dressed, staring at the wall. He never claimed to be normal.

A bird chirps somewhere outside, causing Cloud to turn his head towards the window on his left, wondering what kind of bird is awake at 3:01 am.

Having interrupted his staring contest with the aforementioned wall, he instead lets his eyes roam about the room, surveying the scene. To his left is the window, and to his right is a desk, littered with inkless pens and a thoroughly disheveled pile of papers, and a door leading to the hallway. On the opposite side of the room are a floor lamp and a dresser, against which his ever-present buster sword is leaning. Upon closer inspection, however, one would notice an article of clothing hanging off the handle of the sword. In fact, the majority of the room's floor is littered with discarded clothing, causing the corners of Cloud's mouth to turn upward in the faintest version of a smile.

It is 3:03 am and Cloud Strife has his gaze resting on a lump of sheets atop his bed. A pale leg is protruding from the mass of fabric and an equally pale arm is slung over the side of the bed, fingertips barely grazing the carpet. A tangled heap of dark hair is scattered over one of the pillows. Somewhere beneath the mound of blankets, Ayame Himura is sleeping peacefully, immersed in dreams of which we can only imagine.

It is 3:04 am and Cloud Strife is turning a small object over in his hands. He sighs, setting it on the edge of the desk, and rests his chin on his folded arms.

If you had asked Cloud three years ago where he thought he would be on this very night (or morning, if we're going to get technical), this certainly would not have been his answer. He isn't even entirely sure how he got to this point. What he _is_ sure of is that he is tired, slightly hungry, and his butt is starting to hurt.

What is he doing this for anyway? His _soul mate?_

While it is rather difficult to imagine Cloud Strife ever falling in love at all, the thought of him being in love with Ayame Himura is exceptionally preposterous. The average spectator would most likely assume that Cloud would find himself attracted to someone a bit more… ideal. Someone beautiful, perhaps, who always knows the right things to say? Someone poised and skilled in combat? Someone who would never, _ever_ attempt to converse with him about such taboo topics as Sephiroth or that cursed wing on his back? Certainly. And Ayame Himura is clearly none of those things.

It is 3:09 am and Cloud Strife is pondering this.

Ayame Himura is not beautiful. She is not poised, not skilled in combat, and she has a terribly annoying habit of saying exactly what Cloud _do__esn__'t _want to hear. And if you had _told_ Cloud three years ago that he would be sitting here on this very night, in the dark, wondering what the hell he was doing and contemplating all the ways Ayame Himura is _not _perfect, he would have told you that you were crazy. Or he may have just sent you one of his "I'm a badass so back off before I hack away at your fingers with this abnormally large sword" looks. Same general concept.

It is 3:14 am and Cloud Strife thinks soul mates are bullshit.

He has never been the "I love you. I've always loved you. Oh, rainbows and butterflies! Have my children?" type, and he most definitely is not planning on becoming it now, at 3:14 on the morning of what is undoubtedly going to be one of the most important and most stressful days that he has ever encountered.

Cloud has also never been the nervous type. He has never had pre-battle nervousness, or pre-anything nervousness, for that matter. If he were to recount all the things he'd done, the things he'd seen, the places he'd been, it would be enough to make almost anyone shudder. But he was not nervous then. And yet as he sits here in this dreadfully uncomfortable chair, looking back and forth between the blanket-clad figure in his bed and the object on his desk, his stomach drops and he can't tell the difference between nervousness and nausea. Maybe there is none.

It is 3:18 am and Cloud Strife has no idea what "type" he is (or isn't) anymore.

He is, however, painfully aware of the fact that his butt has gone numb.

It is 3:19 am and Cloud Strife is suddenly feeling rather nostalgic- anything to rid himself of this out-of-character nervousness. So he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander back to the beginning.

* * *

**A/N: **I wasn't planning on posting this until I had the entire thing written and revised, because it is my first full-length fic and I have a nasty habit of re-reading my writing after a few months and hating it. I am generally comfortable with this chapter, though, and was very anxious to get it posted.

Reviews are, of course, loved and appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
